About an hour ago, I spoke with one of Bob and Nancy Strait’s daughters.  I will not post her name for her own protection and privacy.

She expressed her thanks on behalf of the Strait family to the Ranger Up and the 101st Airborne communities for all of your efforts.  She and her family are genuinely moved by what all of you have done for her dad and mom.  Until you started bringing attention to the issue, she said the case was largely ignored by the local police department and political establishment.

Even after this increased attention, however, she believes that the police and city are paying lip service to the family – waiting for the attention to blow over so they can brush it under the carpet once again, while at the same time they have a federal FBI task force investigating a shooting incident that also occurred in Tulsa during the same time frame and I believe CAG and DEVGRU are working the Florida case now.

I am not a conspiracy theory guy and I don’t think there is a police force on the planet that wouldn’t want to catch the people involved in this atrocity.  I have full confidence that the men and women of the Tulsa police department want to find these evil men.

I do question, as the family does, whether they have the resources and support that they need from the Mayor’s office and town leadership.  While we are researching this in earnest before embracing this belief, peripherally, Mayor Dewey F. Bartlett, Jr. does not seem very interested in responding to questions about the violent attacks on Nancy and Bob Strait.  Ranger Up fans sending the mayor questions on Facebook have been ignored and blocked and emails sent to the mayor’s office have been ignored.  The only response we have from anyone in Tulsa is from the police force, which simply has said, “We’re doing the best we can.”

I’m not sure why case is being brushed aside while others have gained prominence.  Maybe the mayor’s office is concerned that this will be bad PR for Tulsa, maybe he doesn’t want to face criticism about adequate protection for the citizens of Tulsa prior to an election after he cut 142 police jobs, maybe he simply has incompetent staff running his websites, or maybe he and his staff have been watching too many television shows about veterans and they are afraid we’re gonna go all “PTSD” on them.

What is clear is that they seem to be dropping the ball and appear to be no closer to finding the people responsible for the brutal rape and murder of an 85 year old woman and the vicious beating of her D-Day veteran husband than they were a month ago.  And that is completely unacceptable.

I asked Bob’s daughter what the family wanted us to do.

She said, “We’re not looking for publicity.  That’s not what our family is about.  But without attention, I truly believe no one here is going to do anything to find these men.  We want justice for my daddy and my momma.  I’d like you to try to get this in the news.  If it gets in the news, maybe Tulsa will do something about it.”

I told her if that is what she wanted then we’re going to push until this gets solved or we die trying.  I told her we would never quit.

Thus far I’ve done half a dozen interviews with various news outlets, but none have taken the National Stage, with the exception of Cam Edwards awesome radio show on NRA News.

I can tell you honestly, this will get nowhere without you guys grabbing this torch and pushing like hell.

Please continue to pressure anyone and everyone you can in the media, and for good measure, please contact the City of Tulsa:

Mayor Dewey Bartlett: (918) 596-7411 (if no one answers there, call the next number).
The Mayor’s Action Center: (918) 596-2100
Tulsa Mayor Dewey Bartlett E-Mail Contact Page
Mayor Dewey Bartlett
City Hall
175 East 2nd Street, Suite 690
Tulsa, OK 74103

and let them know what the veteran community expects from the Mayor.

If you know anyone in the media, in non-profit organizations that would support this family, in the police force, in the FBI – if you know anyone who can help, please engage them.  I have a feeling that this is going to be a long fight.  I think the city of Tulsa’s leadership and the national media will ignore this story until they have no choice but to deal with it.  We have to make them deal with it.  I believe it is our solemn duty.

If you have ideas for how we need to attack this, RU is all ears.  If you have an organization that wants to get involved, please do and let us know how we can support the effort.

All that is required for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing.

That’s not what this community is all about.

This is a community that when the country asked “Whom shall I send?” answered proudly “Here I am. Send me.”

We need to be there for the Straits now.  Because if not us, then who?

Our good friend, Jorge Rivera

There are some friends who you value so much it is really hard to qualify into words.

I met Jorge Rivera three years ago in the same city where he ended his career: Nashville, Tennessee. For that fight, RU was not his largest sponsor, we were a small company that very few people knew, and given the general state of the MMA industry even now, there was no reason to believe we would even exist for his next fight. Furthermore, while fighters are generally very reclusive and private during the buildup to a fight, Jorge had also just lost his seventeen year old daughter, a pain that I can only imagine, and hope to never have to go through. In short, I didn’t expect any of his attention when I arrived at his hotel door to drop off shirts. I wanted to give him his gear, shake his hand, and get out of his way.

Instead, when that hotel door opened, I was greeted by an incredibly hospitable, thoughtful, and giving person who treated me as if we had known each other for years. He refused to let me excuse myself, introduced me to people in the industry I would have never known otherwise, and was incredibly open about his life. By the end of the day before weigh-ins, I felt like I had known Jorge, Matt Phinney, and Tim Burrill for years. I could see in Jorge a man that had made mistakes in life, but through them had acquired incredible wisdom and perspective, and wanted to impart that on those around him. For a guy who had achieved this level as a professional athlete, I was truly amazed by his humility and kindness.

By the time he entered the cage with Nissen Osterneck, hiding a broken hand and partially dislocated shoulder I might add, I felt like my brother was stepping in there. I don’t remember wanting anyone to win so badly in my life.

And he did.

It wasn’t pretty. He gassed early on and we all thought he’d get finished as a result, but he kept on pushing and pushing and refusing to quit. He did what Jorge does best: he fought.

And I don’t mean that in the sense of MMA. Jorge’s had every reason to give up in his life – sometimes because of self-made bad decisions and sometimes because of chance, but I can tell you honestly, he’s had a rough go at it. What makes him special, and what makes me look up to him, even as I examine situations I’d never be in, is that he has never shied from the struggle. When life hits him, he hits back harder. When he can’t hit anymore, he still manages to stand up. He’s not afraid of the fight – he embraces it.

I can’t explain our relationship exactly. Sponsor is almost an afterthought at this point. For my part, I’ve received middle of the night calls about strategy, business, stress, and anything else you can imagine (Jorge, like me, let’s his mind wander at night and can’t sleep). I’ve been there for the highs like beating a very game Nate Quarry in Charlotte with 50 vets cheering him on. I’ve been there for the lows, like watching my friend get kneed in the head and then be disrespected in Australia. Through it all though, it’s just been an honor to be here, to be counted as one of Jorge’s inner circle and to support him as best I could.

So as I sat cageside and Jorge’s last fight started in the same city our friendship had begun, I just wished to God that he would come out on top. As the fight started, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, as if I was the one about to fight. They began and Jorge had a bad start, but he hung in there, and although he lost the first round, he looked confident going into the second round. He shrugged off a takedown and landed a strong right hand. Moments later, Jorge Rivera’s last fight in the Octagon ended via TKO.

I can honestly tell you I don’t think I would have been happier if the win had been my own.

The first trip to Nashville saw us all go out to a swanky nightclub and party into the night around people we barely knew, seeing people and being seen and all that nonsense. This time around, it was just a small group of us renting out the top floor of a tiny bar: friends, family, and a few loyal vets that have supported Jorge for years.

“I just want to be around the people that matter, Nick,” was Jorge’s guidance.

I remember thinking simply, “I hope to always be on that list.”

Congratulations to a true warrior (in the Cav and in the Cage)on an incredible career. On to the next challenge, sir. We’re here every step of the way.

Love you, brother.

This weekend, as the clock struck midnight, Ranger Up launched our new Rugby brand, American Sin Bin.   It’s an idea that sprung up as early as January 2008, when then LTC Kelly Crigger invested in a fledgling Ranger Up.  At the time, there was frankly no way in hell that we could handle the idea.  We were a small apparel company focused on existing.

I was working a corporate job during the day and Ranger Up every night until about 2AM.  Tommy was living in the spare bedroom of my old house and getting paid in high-fives and attaboys and whatever we could spare after the bills were paid.

Nearly four years later, we find ourselves with an amazing operations team, an incredibly talented design team, and frankly, all of you – an Army of incredible support (and candid criticism when we deserve it) and we’re about to take on an incredible challenge – we’re going to set the conditions to bring home a Rugby World Cup Championship.

To people in the Rugby community, this may seem like an absurd notion, but that’s how we like to roll. The same month Crigger decided to invest in our idea the first article was written about RU in the Fayetteville Observer.  They asked me when I decided to start an apparel company.  I answered the same way that I do now: “Ranger Up isn’t an apparel company.  We’re a force created to make a difference in the veteran and military community.” I went on to say that they’d see us making some serious inroads in the non-profit community and eventually have the ability to affect change in government.

A lot of people wrote in online and scoffed at the idea.  One in particular, pissed me off:  “Give me a break.  These guys make funny t-shirts.  It takes a lot more than that to make a difference.  They need to get over themselves.”  I keep that quote on the Desktop of my computer.

I don’t really care what people think about me or our company.  I never have.  I revel in some people hating us, to be honest.  But I am a patriot and I look often to our nation’s past.  I find people who aggressively try to stamp out the efforts of others to be the lowest form of human parasite.  Not only do they not do for themselves and chase their own dreams, but they attempt to dissuade others from conquering their own.  This country was founded on the principle that one man can make a difference.  We are a land of opportunity – a land of frontiersmen cutting our current world out of the wilderness.  We are the world’s immigrants, arriving by sea, land and air, hoping and fighting for something more.  We can do anything, so long as we don’t quit, so long as we don’t allow ourselves excuses, so long as we don’t allow pessimism and self-hatred to stamp out the passion for something better.

Fast forward to present day. Ranger Up is a multi-million dollar company that has donated hundreds of thousands of dollars in apparel and cash to military charities, I have been honored to be elected to the Board of Advisors for Soldiers’ Angels, we’re working on developing a Veteran Housing Program as well as an Entrepreneurial Bootcamp for Vets, and we’re ready to take on the next challenge.

With that in mind, I am thrilled to announce that we’ve successfully lured New York Times Bestselling Author Kelly Crigger away from the public relations world and he has accepted a fulltime role as President of American Sin Bin.  If you’re a Rugger, know that this means we are guaranteed success because the man may be more of a workaholic than I am and twice as talented.  If you aren’t a rugger and find this American Sin Bin stuff to be a nuisance, know that RU has 100% of my attention and we’re going to keep pushing in some amazing directions in the next 365.

If you’re asking “Why are you sharing this?” it’s for the same reason that Tom and I personally answer every message sent our way on Facebook, Twitter, email, etc.  As I said in 2008, Ranger Up isn’t a t-shirt company. It’s the idea that motivated patriots can make a difference.  And this very important idea doesn’t work
without you.  We believe Ranger Up is your company too.  And I always want you to know what is going on in your company and why we are doing it.

Thank you, as always, for your support (and criticism).

RLTW

Nick

They won wars, shaped a nation, and developed treaties that required impeccable knowledge of various countries, personalities, and agendas. They paid attention to nuance and to the specific motivations of other congressmen to develop masterful compromises that moved the nation forward. They were, almost to a man, national heroes, who even when we disagreed with their opinion, we respected them as patriots and statesmen.

And now? Now, we universally hate Congress. 13% of Americans are happy with the job that Congress is doing, which is roughly the same percentage of people that have some form of mental illness. As Americans, we basically agree on three things: We like the Superbowl, we like Bruce Willis movies, and we fucking despise Congress. Not only that, but most Americans feel they would do a much better job than the average Congressman. Do you think that feeling was prevalent in Jefferson’s time? Think about that: we think the people we are electing to run the country have worse judgment, less intellect, and lower character than we do.

And what did we do about it? Well, for once, we all got off our asses and in the last election, we beat the crap out of the status quo and sent a clear message to both parties about our expectations of improved Congressional performance…or so we thought…

For the umpteenth time we’re sitting here with no budget. No budget. The baseline function of the legislative branch is to pass laws, develop a budget that correlates to our tax base, and spend that money for the greater good. And here we are, once again, with no budget. You guys can’t even make “hard” decisions like cutting spending on water taxis, art trails, organic food programs for public schools and skate board parks, never mind address more uncomfortable issues like the fact that social security is dying and we have a national healthcare program that no one understands and that we cannot afford. How is this possible? How do you wake up every morning, look at yourself in the mirror, and think anything other than “I am a total failure at life”. Newsflash: that’s what we all think of you.

And what happens if the budget isn’t passed by the 8th? The military doesn’t get paid, but “essential personnel” do and non-essential personnel get an unpaid vacation. Really? Who gets to decide what’s essential? Oh, that’s right. YOU. I’m assuming your offices are going to be kept in good repair, your staff will be paid, your rent for whatever apartments you hold in DC will be attended to, your transportation will continue, the people that handle your mistresses/boytoys will be taken care of, and your security will remain in place. One thing we absolutely need to ensure in all of this mess is that the incompetent people destroying our government and not performing the most basic element of their jobs are not inconvenienced!

So when the budget doesn’t pass, a population that is already stressed to the point where even the testosterone-fueled-we-don’t-feel-pain-or-admit-weakness military community has embraced the need to counsel soldiers for post-traumatic stress is now going to be tested further by not being provided with the means to pay their bills while they are deployed? This is the best we’ve got? This is what the Democrats and the Republicans have worked together to provide? They might as well just hand out a bunch of 45s with one bullet in them to everyone in uniform. We already have an enormous suicide problem, assholes. Thanks a lot.

Congress, here’s my advice based on my five years as a business owner. I fully admit I have a lot to learn, so others feel free to chime in:

1) Pass a goddam budget.

2) Better yet, how about you go for the gusto and determine an updated tax rate, forecast how much you will take in during the next year, and develop a budget equal to or less than that amount. I would prefer less, because we owe a fuckton of money to everyone, and I would like our country to not completely fall apart.

3) I realize that you can literally print money or borrow it from other nations at exorbitant interest rates, but consider, for an instant, that the long-term financial health of our nation should probably trump your ability to bolster your re-election chances by locking up loans from China so you can keep your local pork projects up and running. By way of comparison, if Ranger Up spent astronomically more than we made in even one year, not only would we go out of business, but everyone that invested in this company would be completely screwed, and we’d still owe taxes to the government(which you’d squander). So, while I realize it isn’t exactly the same thing, I can’t help but think…you know…all the spending more than our means bit…you should stop doing that…but, you know, I’m just a caveman…

4) If you completely disagree with me on points two and three, no worries. I realize there are different opinions on how much running a deficit hurts us, and I hardly claim to be an economist. Nevertheless, pass a goddam budget.

5) Another Ranger Up comparison:

While we do a whole lot more than this, in order to survive, Ranger Up has to do at least three things: Make shirts, Sell shirts, and Ship shirts. Tom, my COO, is one of my best friends. If even one day went by and he didn’t do those three things, he’d be formally counseled and kicked repeatedly in the babymaker. If two days went by and he didn’t do those things, he’d be fired, and he’d happily admit he had it coming, because his job is clear and I entrust him with a great deal of responsibility. But you know what? At the end of the day, we’re just shipping shirts.

You clowns approve the largest budget in the world and every freakin’ year it’s the same shit – a political standoff. Democrats, I’m pissed at you for not accepting the fact that the nation sent a clear message to change the financial status quo in the last election. Republicans, I’m pissed at you for being completely unreasonable and using this situation to propose a balanced budget amendment (which I would normally support) knowing that it will never pass right now. Both sides have decided to have a “big dick contest” over who is more righteous as you carefully plan your election strategy for 2012 while we have troops in Afghanistan, Iraq, Africa, Japan, Libya, and southern Africa actively engaged in combat or relief operations. Are you kidding me? Contest results: a) You’re all found wanting. b) Pass a goddam budget.

6) Psssssst, Congress…I’m whispering so no one will hear me: Being American is a pretty sweet gig. Most of us don’t appreciate it, but we have it about as good as it comes. Ask anyone who has actually been to a combat zone, third world country, peace corps mission, etc. (no your study abroad program to a western European country doesn’t count).

Our lives are so good and we have so much stuff that we pretty much ignore and accept that you are completely incompetent and corrupt. We turn our backs to the fact that both sides routinely claim to hate each other, while you hang out together, drink together, and hook each other up with ambassadorships and leadership positions in major government organizations that none of you are remotely qualified to handle. We ignore you when you espouse hardcore Christian ideology, call out others for adultery, and then get caught with three different women, two men, and a goat. We give you a pretty wide berth. All that we ask, I say again, ALL THAT WE ASK, is that you don’t completely fuck it all up, so we can continue to plan for our next weekend party instead of having to pay attention to your incompetence. Hint: We’re starting to pay attention to you. Pass a goddam budget.

7) Finally, if you really aren’t going to execute this simple and fundamental task, as is your charge, then everything, not just military pay, should be shut down. No power in government facilities, no security at the White House, Capitol, etc. No military actions of any kind. Your staff goes home. You pay for your own flight back, your own offices, your own apartment in DC. Federal school budgets go away, welfare checks cease, as does Medicare and social security. Everything comes to a screeching halt and the eyes of the country sharply turn to you. Right now you have the luxury of living an existence that even Paris Hilton doesn’t enjoy – one without consequence. You are complete failures. Do something right. Or at least give it a try. You might find that you like it.

8 ) Oops. I forgot one more thing: PASS THE GODDAM BUDGET.

Sincerely,

Nick

I have many a funny story about my good friend Dobbs, but the only thing you need to know right now is that right before CMTC, Dobbs bought the most spectacularly absurd wrap-around sunglasses. They looked like they were straight out of the 80s, yet somehow tactical. No one has seen anything like them before or since. The only thing they were missing was the shutters and bright red finish and we were in a Max Headroom Pepsi Commercial.

Anyway, Day One of Dobbs wearing these ridiculous shades, he had the most amazingly productive day ever, solving three major issues inside of four hours. SSG Roff looked at him and said, “Dobbs, what’s gotten into you? You’re on fire!”

Patterson chimes in, “It’s the shades.”

Lawrence adds, “It’s definitely the shades, sergeant.”

We instantly all agree that his special powers come from the amalgam of contorted plastic wrapped around his head and I announce, “Dobbs, when you’re wearing those you’re like a Transformer. You’re not just Dobbs anymore. You’re Dobtimus Fucking Prime.”

A nickname was born.

The Mission

I had only been with the mortars for about three months when we hit our first CMTC rotation in beautiful Hohenfels, Germany. It was the first mission for that rotation and our battalion commander wanted to “place his hairy eyeball” (we never really knew what that saying meant but he said it a lot) on every officer in the Task Force and discuss the mission at hand. When his impassioned speech concluded, he dismissed all personnel that didn’t have to attend his operations order.

“Yay, I can leave!”, I briefly thought.

Then I realized I was now a battalion asset. This was going to be a long afternoon.

My friend Jared, feeling sorry for me as he left the TOC to go join his platoon, took the opportunity to emblazon my dust-covered HMMWV with cute notes like, “Nick is a stupid penis-head”, “Nick loves gay cow sex”, and “Nick loves the Yankees”. While the first two were reasonable attacks, the latter was a bridge too far, and reciprocation was a moral imperative.

The REAL Mission

Now is an important time to note that I always go too far with this kind of stuff.

Never one to shy from abusing authority, I called into my fire control center and got the 10 digit grids for all of Jared’s vehicles. Dobbs and I pulled out Ye Olde Hohenfels Mappe and headed out. The plan was simple. Dobbs would pull up and bullshit with the guys while I pretended I had “Lieutenant Business” with Jared. In each cargo pocket I had a can of spray paint. I planned on leaving a lasting impression.

We arrive, shoot the shit a little, and I ask where Jared is. They point to a Bradley. I walk to it, turn the corner so I am out of sight and start spray painting what Jared prefers to do to goats and pigs while I giggle to myself. It was at that moment that a) both the driver and gunner of this BFV came around the corner and b) I realized this was the platoon sergeant’s vehicle.

MOTHER FUCKER. Messing with the LT was one thing. The guys may have even let it go down. Spray painting bestiality comments on the PSG’s vehicle…well…infantry law pretty much stated that I needed to get my ass kicked.

The driver screamed out, “LT P just fucked with S’arnt Z’s Bradley! Get him! Get him!”

Fight or Flight!

The jig was up. I needed to pop smoke ASAP. In my mind, Dobtimus Prime had the vehicle running, foot on the gas and brake, and the second my ass hit the seat, he was gonna drop the hammer and we’d be homefree before most of the platoon knew what hit them.

As I continued running, my confidence was building. Even though the 3rd platoon guys were echoing the assault charge in earnest, there was still lots of confusion and I had a good lead. Seconds before, I had heard the HMMWV engine roar to life. I was going to make it! As I turned the corner, I saw my oasis…driving away at top speed.

Fucking Dobbs had left me.

I kept running for another minute, but my fate was inevitable and I decided to turn and let the ass-kicking commence. As I spun on my heel to face Jared’s platoon, I felt like I was re-watching the movie Braveheart. A mob of forty was descending upon me and they were going to get their revenge. The first few idiots charged ahead, but the majority stuck together and held the line.

Fastest guy got there first and instantly regretted it as he realized he weighed 155 pounds and I did not. I threw him like a rag doll just in time to duck under a punch from number two guy. I shot a high crotch single on him, picked him up, and slammed him as hard as I could into the ground. He let out a pathetic gasping sound. Then the mob hit me.

When Mobs Attack:

For those of you that have never been attacked by a mob, you should know there is no way to win unless you have two katanas and your name is Miyamoto Musashi. The fact that you bench press 400 pounds or just got your BJJ purple belt really doesn’t matter at all. You are going to get beat up. I have been attacked by several mobs, but I chalk that up to bad luck and not anything that I did. Nevertheless, I have developed five helpful tips for minimizing damage:

Nick Mob Rule number 1: Protect your limbs. If you leave them hanging out there, some jackass is going to yank an appendage one way while another guy jumps on the pile, and next thing you know your shoulder is out of socket.

Nick Mob Rule number 2: Protect your face. People get exhuberant in mobs. You want to avoid concussions and eye pokes and keep your wits about you as long as possible.

Nick Mob Rule number 3: Protect your genitals. If the reasoning for this rule is not obvious, I implore you not to follow it.

Nick Mob Rule number 4: Build a frame. If you are lying flat on your stomach or back, all the weight of the mob is on your rib cage. No bueno. I find the wrestling “turtle position” to be most advantageous as you can support lots of weight and use your elbows and knees to protect your head and vital organs.

Nick Mob Rule Number 5: Hurt one guy as quickly as possible. The others may feel bad and stop to help him. And if they don’t, well, at least you got one of those bastards.

At the bottom of the pile…AGAIN.

The mob hit me like the All Blacks Rugby Team. I got rolled several times while they doled out punishment, but quickly built my frame, turtled up, and started crawling as best I could, looking for my victim. A wayward leg hit my arm and stayed an instant too long and BAM, it became my property. As the mob continued to bull me over, I dragged this poor soul down with me. I pummeled him, elbowed him, torqued on his leg, pinched him, head butted his ribs – I did my best to do whatever I could do with whatever body part I had that wasn’t being thrashed at any given moment to bring him pain.

The guy started to scream bloody murder. I continued.

Finally, I heard SFC Z screaming for everyone to stop.

They did.

I stood up and apologized to the sergeant I was just assaulting.

“Holy shit, sir! You okay?” Sergeant Z asked.

“Why do you ask?”

Jared was laughing.

I looked at my hands.

Blood. I could feel it pouring out of my nose and mouth.

I felt my face with my hands.

More blood.

I did the nose and teeth check.

Whew. Still present and unbroken.

“I’m good, Sergeant Z. Sorry about that. I meant to spray paint that your LT fucked goats and pigs, not you.”

This response seemed reasonable to all parties involved. I love the Military.

“Did Dobbs just fucking leave?” I ask.

Jared was laughing his ass off now as he reenacted how quickly Dobbs sped into the sunset. Jared being Jared, there were 107 iterations that needed to be physically acted out. My three favorites involved a Lethal Weapon style hood slide, a cartwheel-summersault-backflip into the gunner’s hatch, and one version where Dobbs caught a wave on a surfboard that apparently had miraculously appeared at the opportune moment.

“Great leadership, sir”, Sergeant Z threw out.

“You really seem to be making a difference over there. I’m sure Dobbs just went for help”, chuckled Sergeant Robb.

“Dude, you’re like the worst platoon leader, ever”, added Jared with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Return Home

I hop out of Jared’s HMMWV as my guys notice that I am completely fucked up.

“Sir, what the hell happened?” asked Roff.

“Dobbs left me to get my ass kicked,” I answered.

“What?” Lawrence chimed in.

“You left the LT?” Patterson asked. “Damn, man! That shit’s cold!”

Dobbs smirked an uncomfortable smirk and tries to walk away as the guys bust his balls.

“Hey Dobbs!” I shout.

He turns around.

“You’re not Dobtimus Prime. You’re not even a Transformer anymore,” I declared in my command voice.

“You know what you are, Dobbs?” I ask as I walk up to him and poke my finger into his chest, letting the anticipation build.

“You’re a fucking Gobot!”

Epilogue

I pissed blood for a couple days.

The paint that I used could not be removed or painted over. Apparently the special paint the Army uses on Bradley Fighting Vehicles isn’t the same as the Krylon I had handy. The vehicle had to get repainted at higher, so SFC Z fucked goats and pigs for the rest of the rotation. This was incredibly amusing to me.

SSG Roff and Austin had a mock serious intervention with me claiming I was too hard on Dobbs. Demoting him to Bumblebee or Jazz was one thing, but a Gobot? A Scooter he was not.

Dobbs eventually got his Dobtimus Prime moniker back.

Nick, Tommy, and Crigger love writing, but conquering the world takes time and effort, so we need help. Ranger Up needs new writers and we’re taking the Rhino Den up a notch by hiring 2-4 talented narcissistic assholes from any branch of service to join our team.

The Job:

1) Write no more than one article a week and no fewer than two articles a month.

2) Articles have to be over 600 words and under 1200 words.

3) Articles will focus on military/police/fire/first responder stories, current events and how they affect the military/police/fire/first responder community, or Emilio Estevez, as we believe he probably feels shitty now that Charlie Sheen gets all the love.

4) We have three flavors of acceptable writing: Funny, Funny, and Serious, but with a Funny Twist.

5) Payment: $100 or $100 worth of gear per accepted article.

The Contest:

Week 1:

By 20 March 2011, submit a Douche of the Week article to business@rangerup.com. We’ll post any acceptable articles on the RhinoDen and pay each writer whose article is posted $100 for their work. We’ll allow our Facebook members to vote and the writers of the 4-6 articles with the most “Likes” will be offered a Week 2 assignment.

Week 2:

By 27 March 2011, submit a personal story of a ridiculous situation you were in to business@rangerup.com. Be funny. We’ll post any acceptable articles on the RhinoDen and pay each writer whose article is posted $100 for their work. We’ll allow our Facebook members to vote and the writers of the 2-4 articles with the most “Likes” will be offered a Job at Ranger Up and an additional $100 gift certificate.

The absolute winner with the most likes total will receive a $250 gift certificate in lieu of the $100 and the opportunity to embarrass him or herself in a Ranger Up Video.

Week 3:

Ranger Up announces the winners on 5 April 2011.

Perks:

1) Awesomeness.

2) A magical unicorn that will take you wherever you want to go*
*Unicorns only available while supplies last.

They just don’t like us. They find us unpalatable. They believe we don’t understand what they understand. They think we didn’t have other options or are too ignorant to realize we are just government pawns.

And you know what? If they said that, honestly, it would be cool. It’s a private organization. It’s America. The military isn’t even really interested in having ROTC there. Let’s face it – Columbia is hardly going to be an officer-producing hub. Hell, half these kids’ parents would cut them off from their trust funds if they even looked at a military uniform.

But they can’t say that because they are self-important, over-analyzing, out-of-touch, spoiled little douchebags. As I monitor the debates by their student body and administration with, honestly, very little interest and even less surprise, I am reminded of my time at Duke, and how much I hated it there.

While I was fairly certain that Columbia’s douchery was going to be roughly on par with what we had going on when I partook in the majesty that is Duke, I reached out to my ex-infantryman friend currently attending Columbia for his thoughts. Here is his completely unedited response:

What I can say is that the majority of the people who are taking up the anti-ROTC position have no idea what they’re talking about. Their arguments aren’t logically flawed. They’ve just completely missed the point of the issue, so they don’t even know what premises to start from. For example, there was a girl – must have been an undergrad – who was in line with us last night holding a sign that said NO MILITARIZATION OF EDUCATION. That educated people can have this sort of sentiment astounds me. They seem to think that allowing ROTC on campus would entail the military replacing the dorms with barracks and putting the entire student body through its own curriculum. They don’t seem to understand thatno one in the military is proposing any change to their education whatsoever. It’s like, Congrats, you’ve managed to COMPLETELY miss the point of what’s actually at issue here. The only change being proposed is Columbia University’s institutional relationship with the Reserve Officer Training Corps, a commissioning source for officers in the US military. The only actual on-the-ground implication is that some of her fellow students would be affiliated with the program as students, and would then be commissioned as military officers upon graduation. That’s it. The program doesn’t even draw on university resources. In other words, think of it this way: If Columbia University were proposing adding a soccer club whose members would be considered for employment as professional soccer players upon graduation, this girl should be just as willing to hold a sign saying NO SOCCERIZATION OF EDUCATION.

It’s important to note that this complete ignorance about the military among the academic elite is a result of the schism that took place between elite academia and the military during the Vietnam era. Those two segments of society have now been almost mutually exclusive for 40 years now. So we have a full generation of academic elite – and I’m including both students and professors in that strata – who have no family in the military, no friends in the military, no interaction with any military members, and no knowledge of the military or how it actually works whatsoever. By preventing ROTC programs to return to elite academic institutions, they’re proposing that we actively prolong and exacerbate that problem so that they can continue to live in their little bubbles rather than learn about something that apparently makes them uncomfortable. This from people who champion open-mindedness and diversity.

*Photo by Kelly of ShootMePretty.com

I just read Steve Tobak’s article entitled “Why Veterans Make Great Entrepreneurs”. Mr. Tobak is a consultant, advisor, former top executive, writer for CBS, and likely an expert on a great many things.

I am pissed off.

It isn’t that Mr. Tobak meant any harm. In fact, as the title suggests, Mr. Tobak claims that veterans are pretty good at this entrepreneurship thing, owning 3.6 million or 13% of all small businesses. He goes on to highlight how amazing that feat is while crediting us with leadership, decision-making, and organizational skills. So far so good, right? Then I got to this little backhanded, pat-on-the-head-for-you-simpleton-barbarians-who-try-hard ditty: But something else is highly counterintuitive about veterans being suited to entrepreneurial life. Discipline, duty, and strict regimen are major factors in military life. In the business world, and especially for entrepreneurs, focus is indeed important but so is flexibility and adaptability. And managers can’t successfully motivate employees the way officers “order” their troops. That’s a whole different ballgame.

Gosh, Mr. Tobak, that is how I remember military service – especially the infantry! Officers would give an order and they’d never be questioned! The guys would just execute, no matter how dumb it was or how perilous. Even the worst officers would never be undermined. After all – it was the RULE to obey them! And plans NEVER changed. We’d write an operations order and everything would happen exactly as we said it would. We’d always let the enemy, weather, and Murphy know the plan well in advance so there couldn’t possibly be an issue. Rigid discipline and the following of orders – that’s the secret to military success. Ideally, we’d just have robots, but we don’t quite have that technology yet.

If it was just this one ignorant writer, this article wouldn’t be worth responding to, but I have heard time and time again since leaving the military from multitudes of people who have never served and never tried to understand those that have that military people aren’t flexible or adaptable and that we rely on a strict hierarchy and providing orders. I’ve had this conversation in several interviews with well-meaning people all across corporate America. To be brutally honest, when I look at their life experiences and juxtapose them against mine and those of the people I have served with, I feel like what I imagine Peyton Manning would if a fifty-two year old ex-high school backup quarterback was giving him a critique of his passing motion or Michael Moore would feel if Mother Teresa was giving him tips on how to be a bigger douchenozzle.

I had just turned 23 when I took my first platoon into Kosovo. I had 39 guys under my command, four Bradley Fighting Vehicles, worth a kajillion dollars, and eight up-armored HMMWVs. We lived in an embalming station next to a Serb church that was a high value target for the Albanians. When it rained, rat and bird feces rained down on top of us. My Platoon Sergeant actually got tuberculosis from it. I saw my company commander no more than once a week and had complete autonomy over multiple towns in my sector. At the beginning of our time there, there was significant violence between the Albanians and Serbs, including a grenade attack on a kindergarten. There were riots, we were shot at, and generally had a terrible rapport with all parties involved. It was almost as challenging as having a really big PowerPoint presentation due for the VP of It-Doesn’t-Matter-I’m-Not-Going-to-Do-Anything-That-Will-Place-Any-Risk-On-My-Career-Even-If-It-is-a-Brilliant-Idea-So-I-Will-Sharpshoot-Anything-That-Comes-Before-Me and you just didn’t know how you could possible finish it in time. Well…maybe it wasn’t quite that serious, but close…

So given that we were inflexible military guys we simply stood around festering in our feces shower and awaited orders so we could follow them…or not. Our mission was to quell violence and restore peace to this province and the two ways to do that were: 1) Kill everyone here or 2) Start figuring out what the major problems were and work to find a solution.

We opted for column B. We determined getting to know people was critical, so we cut down on our mounted patrols and started doing a whole lot of walking. My guys figured out pretty quickly that the kids liked us the most, so we’d get a lot of information from them. We identified who the town leaders were, and more importantly, who was reasonable and who was respected. We immediately started building relationships with those people. When they asked for something on behalf of the town, we made it happen. When the radicals on either side asked…well…maybe we missed it. This gave the leaders that didn’t want everyone on the other side dead a whole lot of power. Hell, we even let these guys use our generators and provided security for their weddings. I made it a point to have coffee with each one of them a few times a week. They started solving many of our problems and helped us spot the troublemakers in the population, as well as become more vocal about their real concerns.

One of the big gripes that everyone had was the lack of jobs. You know what military-aged men do when they aren’t working? They drink. You know what drunk, angry, military-aged guys do? They get brave enough to act impulsively. Impulsive behavior often involved guns. We liked to be the only guys running around with guns, so we, along with our sister platoons in the area, requested the resources to fix up some of the old factories and businesses in the area so people could get back to work…and there was much rejoicing.

Even with the increase in jobs, there was still a lot of tension between some of the Serb leaders and my guys. I spoke to the new mayor (a moderate – go figure?) and asked for his recommendation. He thought a weekly soccer game between the soldiers and the locals would be a good idea. This was Kosovo, not Iraq or Afghanistan, so this was entirely reasonable. Another unit would come in and pull security and every week we’d play (and generally get our asses kicked) by the locals. Soccer, after all, is a silly game. Nevertheless, now we had something to talk about with all of them throughout the week, and we became more human to them. Again, things got better for all parties and violence in our area truly went to zero. In our spare time, we taught ourselves how to do roof work and refurbished and re-shingled our little embalming station.

None of these decisions or actions came from anyone’s orders. They came from my guys and me working together, bringing up ideas, and focusing on solving problems in order to successfully complete the challenging mission we had been assigned. Not bad for automaton droids. Perhaps, much like R2, we malfunctioned.

I’m very proud of what we did on that deployment, but my challenges and the challenges of my platoon then pale in comparison to what a 23 year old has to accomplish in Iraq or Afghanistan now. Imagine yourself assaulting through Baghdad, “winning the war”, and then realizing you had to completely change tactics from an army-on-army desert mounted war to a door-to-door fight against a local insurgency, then a few years later, completely change tactics again and move out further from the FOBs and get to know the people even more and start to work with the locals, and then change tactics again and have to rely increasingly on the locals for a great measure of your own security. Not only that, but you have to learn the culture and customs for as many as four vastly different groups, act as warriors, police, diplomats, builders, all while trying to balance a constantly changing set of directives from higher up and increasingly restrictive rules of engagement. Sound fun? I have friends with over ten deployments, and they’ll tell you each one was markedly different with even more diverse challenges.

So yeah, while I fully admit that one has to be a regular Reed Richards to maintain the flexibility necessary to graduate college, get an entry level job in a large corporation, and move up the ladder at a virtually predetermined rate in jobs that are often pretty-much spoon fed to you, I still kinda think that those of us who spent a day or two in the military may know a smidgeon about adaptability, but hey I don’t write for CBS, so I may be wrong. As for the giving orders bit, I guess I have no real response to that one. After all, as I recall that in my military days most of my leaders spent every day giving orders and micro-managing, as opposed to providing a mission and a loose commander’s intent and then allowing their subordinates to devise their own plan and execute it. Conversely, if my time working in corporate America taught me anything, it’s that every single manager that I encountered was a great leader who always presented good reasons for his or her orders…errr…I mean requests…yeah, orders sound friendlier when they’re called requests, right? Each one of them really cared about their people and always tried to see our perspective and help us succeed and would selflessly take one on the chin to protect us. They were never small-minded people who clung to the tiny bit of pathetic power they had and used it to belittle their employees to make themselves feel superior. Honestly, I wish more military leaders modeled themselves after corporate managers. I think we’d really get somewhere. Well played, Tobak. You’ve cut to the core of me. I can see why CBS has you on the payroll.*

*The only sarcasm in that paragraph was between the words “So yeah” and “payroll”.

Let’s really look at the numbers: The Kauffman Foundation, as well as many other well-respected firms and President Obama’s own staff, have recently concluded that job growth comes entirely from startups and small business. Companies in the first year of business add three million jobs to the U.S. economy. In their second year, they add one million. Compare that to large industry, with a well established bureaucracy and a focus on cost cutting and outsourcing, and you’ll find that since 1965, America has lost one million jobs a year from big business. So yes, the growth of our tax base comes entirely from entrepreneurs.

Hmmm…but how much business can small business really produce? Well, in 2009, entrepreneurs accounted for a paltry $22 TRILLION in revenue, with veteran-owned businesses producing $2.85 trillion of that. According to the census, there are 154 million working Americans. There are 9.8 million working age veterans, but 1.5 million are still in uniform. That means we have 8.3 million / 154 million or 5.38% of the working population, but yet deliver 13% of the growth. In point of fact, a veteran is 2.5 times more likely to start a small business than a non-veteran. We start more businesses (and succeed in them I might add) than any other population.

So while I agree with Mr. Tobak that Vets are the Beatles of entrepreneurship, I disagree starkly on the why and certainly don’t see our success as counter-intuitive. In my anything-but-humble opinion, I believe vets succeed for the following steely-eyed, freedom-loving reasons:
1) Nothing I will ever do in my life, unless I am elected President, will ever be as important or have as much of an impact as my time in the military. Every decision matters. You learn to operate at a very high level.

2) We don’t quit…ever…even when reason tells us we should.

3) If we’re not getting shot at, get to eat every day, and sleep every night, we’re generally pretty happy. This perspective helps a ton in the stressful world of entrepreneurship.

4) We’re the most flexible, creative, and adaptable people on the planet…except for maybe those guys at Apple – those bastards could create an iPooFlingingMonkey and we’d all buy it and brag about it.

5) We have been forced to operate in demanding, high-stress, non-artificial environments and succeed. In the military, things are often crystal clear – we know whether we won or lost – whether we did well or failed instantly. We don’t have a boss arbitrarily deciding if the mission was completed. This makes us our own harshest critic, which is essential as an entrepreneur, where blaming others (including luck) is a quick path to failure.

6) We’re team players. We like to succeed together. It actually makes life more rewarding and fun.

7) We care about our people. They aren’t just cogs in the big machine. We spend tons of time making sure we know them and are meeting their needs and not just rating them on how they perform for us.

8 ) And all that other nice stuff Mr. Tobak said about us.

So in short, after we serve our country as warriors in the most extraordinary situations imaginable while often getting criticized by academia, social elites, and others of their ilk, we shed the uniform, enter business, and kick their cowardly asses by producing more economic growth and national wealth per capita than any other population.

You’re welcome.

This article is not meant to bash those that haven’t served. Far from it. I owe a lot to entrepreneurs who have reached out to help me learn, to many of the brilliant civilians who serve on the boards of the military charities that Ranger Up works with, and to a lot of great friends. I’m just tired of having the majority of the population treat us like we’re automaton droids who do a job “anyone can do”. My point is simple: Vets kick ass, and while I will never criticize anyone’s decision not to serve (I love that we all have a choice here), I will not let anyone believe for an instant that their lack of service makes them superior in the business world. It’s condescending, academic, elitist drivel and the facts simply don’t support that contention.